


Wilting of the Rose

by Aly_H



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blight Cure, Cousland learns of Alistair's death at Adamant, F/M, Gen, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Suicide, probably not well written because I can't edit this damn thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 01:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10478592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: Warden-Commander Cousland learns of the death of her love, Alistair, at Adamant from the Agents of the Inquisition.Series of short scenes regarding the idea of what would happen if the Warden had found the Cure but wasn't in time to spare Alistair from inevitable death fighting impossible odds the second time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Full warning: This is probably badly written. The feels made me cry trying to write this, which usually means I didn't get them put into words properly because I was too busy being a mess. That said, I can't edit this cus..."ow, the pain."
> 
> That said, this is me inflicting suffering on myself through characters, you are warned. (But I'm a softie so yeah.)
> 
> Let me know if any of ya'll would like me to add trigger warnings for anything and I'll edit those in here.

Leliana’s agents find her in the Wilds traveling towards Skyhold.

She writes a letter for the poor bastard that Thedas has decided is its savior. It hurts, and the words are impersonal. The unlucky soul won’t know. Leliana is the only one who will read them and see the pain.

When the spies disappear down the road from her camp she lets the damn break. She told them she was still searching for the cure.

That wasn’t true. She’d found it, and was bringing it back. Back home, back to Alistair so she could finally claim him from the Wardens and they could live a real life together. Maybe a family, they could adopt if she remained barren.

A comfortable cottage near Highever. Her family’s lands were extensive and Fergus would welcome them…that was gone. Just gone.

She shouts, and cries, and begs.

She screams at the Maker – at Andraste – at the Inquisition.

At the Blight.

She curses Duncan and the Wardens. She even invokes the name of the long-dead snake Howe to be angry that he could not end her life properly before it became so twisted.

Eventually her voice gives out and she’s left sobbing in the middle of an empty camp over the instructions on how to prepare the cure for being a Grey Warden.

 

* * *

  

“You sure ‘bout this, Boss?” the dwarf stands beside her, his red hair has started to get grays in it. The lines around his eyes are more prominent, and he doesn’t reach for the flask that he carries as often.

“I’m certain…get a copy of that to Varric Tethras. He’ll be able to get it to Anders. I can’t save him from Justice but at least this,” she waved her hand towards the darkness. She couldn’t stand the idea of entering the Deep Roads through the dwarf capital as was tradition for Ferelden Wardens.

Instead they are in Amaranthine, the place where nearly a decade ago they’d cleared out the Mother’s broodmothers.

The dwarf rubs at his ears, he knows that it’s not really a sound but without the constant whisper and hum of the Darkspawn things sound too quiet.

“…what do I tell Fergus?”

“Tell him I love him and…ask him to name the baby Alistair if it’s a boy,” she said quietly – her brother and her had talked about this a few weeks before when she’d said her goodbyes in Highever. His wife had made it clear that Eveline should pick the name for the next Cousland who would be born soon, but she needed time to think. “But after Mama if it’s a girl. I don’t want my luck following her.”

“I’ll pass the word on, lassie,” the dwarf replied.

“…Thanks, for everything,” she smiled to the dwarf, leaning down to kiss his temple before she shouldered her pack – enough supplies for a week, at most, he knew. She didn’t plan on living that long though – and drew her axes, heading into the Deep Roads for the last time.

He stood there watching the empty darkness, before he finally reached for his drink. The liquid tasteless in mouth, and it didn’t help the bitter taste.

 

* * *

 

 

The monument to the Hero of Ferelden is a beautiful thing. It’s in Denerim’s main market and Teagan can’t help but remember the way said Hero had groused the entire time about it. She felt like she’d only done her job – ‘Would they think I was so heroic if they knew that the only reason I became a Warden was because I was promised a shot at Howe?’

Flowers have been littered around its feet, and candles too. Ferelden mourns the loss of both its Warden Heroes.

Alistair and then the Hero…

He raised his tankard to the statue, and prayed that the Maker had seen fitting to reunite the pair. He couldn’t think of anyone else who deserved peace and happiness more.

 

* * *

 

 

The night that word reached them that his sister had entered the Deep Roads never to return the baby was born. His wife had shaken her head when he passed on his sister’s message regarding the name.

“She’s wrong,” the woman had told him, tears in her eyes – and then made her decision. “We’ll name the baby after her and hope that she grows up as strong as her Aunt.”

He’d laughed, and brushed the soft curls of his daughter’s head. His sister would’ve scowled and grumbled before blushing and saying that it was an honor.

 

* * *

 

 

The air around the rookery is still as she sips on her wine, trying not to think about what Varric had told her. Her friend had found it, the cure for the Blight for Wardens. Oghren, Carver and Anders had joined Fiona in becoming truly _former_ Wardens.

She remembers ten years ago watching from the other side of the fire as Alistair and the Warden danced around each other. How they’d found healing for their grief in one another and then something more.

Every time she had seen them over the years the love had never faltered or faded, as strong each day as when they’d climbed Fort Drakon knowing that it could be their last day and promising to do all they could to make sure the other lived through that day.

Her agents had sent word – the Warden had entered the Deep Roads alone.

It wasn’t the Calling, Leliana knew it was too early for that for a woman as strong willed as her friend. The Inquisition had stolen not just Alistair’s life but that of the Warden as well. If only her information had been better, if only they could’ve prepared better.

No. What happened was unpredictable.

Still she couldn’t help the bitterness she felt towards the Maker – hadn’t those two given up enough?

Perhaps Varric was right – stories really were no good for the heroes.

 

* * *

 

 

Word of the deaths of Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden arrived to him at the same time, though he knew his friends - it was one that led to the other. The assassin took a bottle of his best brandy and three cups down to the shore, where he found a private place to pour the glasses.

His Crows could manage themselves for one night as he honored the old friends who had spared his life and saved his soul, no?

With the sound of the surf as his companion he looked south across the sea and lifted his glass up in a silent salute.

If he drank the other two as well and poured a few more was his own business, no?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this, ya'll!
> 
>  
> 
> I have some much happier Trevelyan/Cullen fluff if you need to cheer up. Personally I'm going to go find Zevran videos to watch.


End file.
